WE found old Julius very useful when we moved to our new residence.
He had a thorough knowledge of the neighborhood, was familiar with the
roads and the watercourses, knew the qualities of the various soils and
what they would produce, and where the best hunting and fishing were to
be had. He was a marvelous hand in the management of horses and dogs,
with whose mental processes he manifested a greater familiarity than
mere use would seem to account for, though it was doubtless due to the
simplicity of a life that had kept him close to nature. Toward my tract
of land and the things that were on it—the creeks, the swamps, the
hills, the meadows, the stones, the trees—he maintained a peculiar
personal attitude, that might be called predial rather than
proprietary. He had been accustomed, until long after middle life, to
look upon himself as the property of another. When this relation was no
longer possible, owing to the war, and to his master's death and the
dispersion of the family, he had been unable to break off entirely the
mental habits of a lifetime, but had attached himself to the old
plantation, of which he seemed to consider himself an appurtenance. We
found him useful in many ways and entertaining in others, and my wife
and I took quite a fancy to him.

Shortly after we became established in our home on the sand-hills,
Julius brought up to the house one day a colored boy of about
seventeen, whom he introduced as his grandson, and for whom he
solicited employment. I was not favorably impressed by the youth's
appearance,—quite the contrary, in fact; but mainly to please the old
man I hired Tom—his name was Tom—to help about the stables, weed
the garden, cut wood and bring water, and in general to make himself
useful about the outdoor work of the household.

My first impression of Tom proved to be correct. He turned out to be
very trifling, and I was much annoyed by his laziness, his
carelessness, and his apparent lack of any sense of responsibility. I
kept him longer than I should, on Julius's account, hoping that he
might improve; but he seemed to grow worse instead of better, and when
I finally reached the limit of my patience, I discharged him.

“I am sorry, Julius,” I said to the old man; “I should have liked to
oblige you by keeping him; but I can't stand Tom any longer. He is
absolutely untrustworthy.”

“Yas, suh,” replied Julius, with a deep sigh and a long shake of the
head, “I knows he ain' much account, en dey ain' much 'pen'ence ter be
put on 'im. But I wuz hopin' dat you mought make some 'lowance fuh a'
ign'ant young nigger, suh, en gib 'im one mo' chance.”

But I had hardened my heart. I had always been too easily imposed
upon, and had suffered too much from this weakness. I determined to be
firm as a rock in this instance.

“No, Julius,” I rejoined decidedly, “it is impossible. I gave him
more than a fair trial, and he simply won't do.”

When my wife and I set out for our drive in the cool of the evening,
—afternoon is “evening” in Southern parlance,—one of the servants
put into the rockaway two large earthenware jugs. Our drive was to be
down through the swamp to the mineral spring at the foot of the
sand-hills beyond. The water of this spring was strongly impregnated
with sulphur and iron, and, while not particularly agreeable of smell
or taste, was used by us, in moderation, for sanitary reasons.

When we reached the spring, we found a man engaged in cleaning it
out. In answer to an inquiry he said that if we would wait five or ten
minutes, his task would be finished and the spring in such condition
that we could fill our jugs. We might have driven on, and come back by
way of the spring, but there was a bad stretch of road beyond, and we
concluded to remain where we were until the spring should be ready. We
were in a cool and shady place. It was often necessary to wait awhile
in North Carolina; and our Northern energy had not been entirely proof
against the influences of climate and local custom.

While we sat there, a man came suddenly around a turn of the road
ahead of us. I recognized in him a neighbor with whom I had exchanged
formal calls. He was driving a horse, apparently a high-spirited
creature, possessing, so far as I could see at a glance, the marks of
good temper and good breeding; the gentleman, I had heard it suggested,
was slightly deficient in both. The horse was rearing and plunging, and
the man was beating him furiously with a buggy-whip. When he saw us, he
flushed a fiery red, and, as he passed, held the reins with one hand,
at some risk to his safety, lifted his hat, and bowed somewhat
constrainedly as the horse darted by us, still panting and snorting
with fear.

“He looks as though he were ashamed of himself,” I observed.

“I'm sure he ought to be,” exclaimed my wife indignantly. “I think
there is no worse sin and no more disgraceful thing than cruelty.”

“What was it about Mr. McLean's dream, Julius?” I asked. The man had
not yet finished cleaning the spring, and we might as well put in time
listening to Julius as in any other way. We had found some of his
plantation tales quite interesting.

“So Solomon say all right, en tuk de goopher mixtry up ter de big
house en gun it ter de cook, en tol' her fer ter put it in Mars Jeems's
soup de fus' cloudy day she hab okra soup fer dinnah. It happen' dat de
ve'y nex' day wuz a cloudy day, en so de cook made okra soup fer Mars
Jeems's dinnah, en put de powder Solomon gun her inter de soup, en made
de soup rale good, so Mars Jeems eat a whole lot of it en 'peered ter
enjoy it.

“De nex' mawnin' Mars Jeems tol' de oberseah he wuz gwine 'way on
some bizness, en den he wuz gwine ter his yuther plantation, down in
Robeson County, en he didn' 'spec' he'd be back fer a mont' er so.

“De nex' day atter de noo man had be'n sont away, Solomon wuz
wukkin' in de cotton-fiel', en w'en he got ter de fence nex' ter de
woods, at de een' er de row, who sh'd he see on de yuther side but ole
Aun' Peggy. She beckon' ter 'im,—de oberseah wuz down on de yuther
side er de fiel',—en sez she:—

“So Solomon tuk de sweet'n' 'tater en sta'ted up de road fas' ez he
could go, en befo' long he retch' town. He went right 'long by de
patteroles, en dey didn' 'pear ter notice 'im, en bimeby he foun' whar
de strange nigger was kep', en he walked right pas' de gyard at de do'
en foun' 'im. De nigger couldn' see 'im, ob co'se, en he couldn' 'a'
seed de nigger in de da'k, ef it hadn' be'n fer de stuff Aun' Peggy gun
'im ter rub on 'is eyes. De nigger wuz layin' in a co'nder, 'sleep, en
Solomon des slip' up ter 'im, en hilt dat sweet'n' 'tater' fo' de
nigger's nose, en he des nach'ly retch' up wid his han', en tuk de
'tater en eat it in his sleep, widout knowin' it. W'en Solomon seed
he'd done eat de 'tater, he went back en tol' Aun' Peggy, en den went
home ter his cabin ter sleep, 'way 'long 'bout two o'clock in de
mawnin'.

“De nex' day wuz Sunday, en so de niggers had a little time ter
deyse'ves. Solomon wuz kinder 'sturb' in his min' thinkin' 'bout his
junesey w'at 'uz gone away, en wond'rin' w'at Aun' Peggy had ter do wid
dat noo nigger; en he had sa'ntered up in de woods so's ter be by
hisse'f a little, en at de same time ter look atter a rabbit-trap he 'd
sot down in de aidge er de swamp, w'en who sh'd he see stan'in' unner a
tree but a w'ite man.

“Mars Johnson didn' quite un'erstan' w'y Mars Jeems sh'd make sich a
great 'miration 'bout de noo nigger, but co'se he want' ter please de
gent'eman w'at hi'ed 'im, en so he 'splain' all 'bout how many times he
had ter cowhide de noo nigger, en how he made 'im do tasks twicet ez
big ez some er de yuther han's, en how he'd chain 'im up in de ba'n at
night en feed 'im on co'n-bread en water.

“ 'Oh! but you is a monst'us good oberseah; you is de bes' oberseah
in dis county, Mistah Johnson,' sez Mars Jeems, w'en de oberseah got
th'oo wid his tale; 'en dey ain' nebber be'n no nigger- breaker lack
you roun' heah befo'. En you desarbes great credit fer sendin' dat
nigger 'way befo' you sp'ilt 'im fer de market. Fac', you is sech a
monst'us good oberseah, en you is got dis yer plantation in sech fine
shape, dat I reckon I doan need you no mo'. You is got dese yer darkies
so well train' dat I 'spec' I kin run em' myse'f fum dis time on. But I
does wush you had 'a' hilt on ter dat noo nigger 'tel I got home, fer
I'd 'a' lack ter 'a' seed 'im, I su't'nly should.'

“Dis yer tale goes ter show,” concluded Julius sententiously, as the
man came up and announced that the spring was ready for us to get
water, “dat w'ite folks w'at is so ha'd en stric', en doan make no
'lowance fer po' ign'ant niggers w'at ain' had no chanst ter l'arn, is
li'ble ter hab bad dreams, ter say de leas', en dat dem w'at is kin' en
good ter po' people is sho' ter prosper en git long in de worl'.”

I drove to town next morning, on some business, and did not return
until noon; and after dinner I had to visit a neighbor, and did not get
back until supper-time. I was smoking a cigar on the back piazza in the
early evening, when I saw a familiar figure carrying a bucket of water
to the barn. I called my wife.

“My dear,” I said severely, “what is that rascal doing here? I
thought I discharged him yesterday for good and all.”

“Oh, yes,” she answered, “I forgot to tell you. He was hanging round
the place all the morning, and looking so down in the mouth, that I
told him that if he would try to do better, we would give him one more
chance. He seems so grateful, and so really in earnest in his promises
of amendment, that I'm sure you 'll not regret taking him back.”

I was seriously enough annoyed to let my cigar go out. I did not
share my wife's rose-colored hopes in regard to Tom; but as I did not
wish the servants to think there was any conflict of authority in the
household, I let the boy stay.